


Let's Go to the Beach (Each)

by yekoc



Category: Swimming RPF, Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Crossover, First Time, M/M, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yekoc/pseuds/yekoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colton Haynes from Teen Wolf and Chad Le Clos from the Olympics meet at the MTV Movie awards. An excuse for porn that somehow developed a plot. Ish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Go to the Beach (Each)

Colton’s at the MTV movie awards because he’s kind of an actual celebrity now – in MTV’s eyes, at least – which is ridiculously cool. What’s less cool is how sweaty he is in his tux and how long and boring it is to wait for your turn to walk down the red carpet and have a million flashbulbs go off in your face. There are still like 20 people in line ahead of him, waiting to “casually” file onto the walkway, and he sighs and looks around. They probably let the really big stars cut the line, because besides his castmates he’s surrounded mostly by people as B-list as himself, sometimes worse. Some of them he doesn’t even recognize, like the tall guy with the nice tan and young, sweet face standing a few people front of him in line. He’s talking to a guy with him who looks like an agent, and Colton catches a few words in an unfamiliar accent.

He elbows Dylan, standing next to him. “Who’s that?”

“Him? Didn’t you watch the Olympics, man?” 

“Gymnastics, I guess. And that amputee guy, that was awesome.”

Dylan rolls his eyes. “You didn’t watch _swimming_? Aren’t you an American? Anyway, that’s the guy who beat Michael Phelps and made bald eagles across this proud nation weep. Chad or something equally ridiculous, with one of those French last names, but he’s not French. South Africa, I think.”

That explains the accent and gives Colton a sudden and inspiring image of the kind of body that’s definitely hiding under that kind of ill-fitting suit. He makes an interested noise.

Dylan rolls his eyes again. “You’re a great guy but you are such a slut,” he says, and then, “Plus, I saw some list of out athletes on HuffPo and he definitely wasn’t on it, it was all women and guys who ride horses.”

Colton’s not on HuffPo’s list of out actors, either, so he doesn’t exactly take that into account. 

“I’m just gonna talk to him!” he says brightly. The guy – Chad? Really? – is looking around now, kind of shyly. He probably got a random invite to this and his PR told him to accept it and now he feels super out of place. It’s only right for Colton to go over and welcome him to the neighborhood, so to speak.

He maneuvers his way through the line and catches the guy’s eye, opens with his most irresistible 1000-watt smiles. That smile’s gotten him at least 3 parts he bombed the auditions for, out of some serious trips to the principle’s office, and more ass than he can even begin to tally. It’s definitely up to the task of easing him into a conversation with a total stranger, and sure enough, the guy smiles back at him, a slow, genuine thing that’s completely at odds with their uber-Hollywood surroundings. 

“Hey,” says Colton, “you look like you’re just as frustrated with this line as I am.”

“Is it always like this?” asks the guy, and wow, okay, that accent. “I’ve never been to anything like this before.”

“I’m not that much of an expert myself,” says Colton, “but I think yes. Unless you’re Beyonce, I totally saw them letting her cut the line.”

“I’m definitely no Beyonce,” the guy says, and his laugh is just as stunning as his smile. “I’m Chad.”

“I’m Colton,” says Colton, and his body thrills a little at how Chad’s hand totally swallows his when they shake. Okay, so Dylan has a point about his sluttiness, but whatever. He’s young, he’s not a dick but he knows he’s kind of beautiful, and life is short. “I’m no Beyonce either, I just act on this show about werewolves and I can’t sing for shit. You swim, right? I completely couldn’t figure out NBC’s schedule but my friend was telling me. Congrats, by the way. I hear Phelps is pretty hard to beat.”

Chad’s grinning at him now, and his shoulders are more relaxed that when Colton first spotted him. They step back from the handshake and Colton sees his eyes run him over top to bottom, just once, but he’s pretty versed in the ways of the celebrity closet at this point, and it’s enough, definitely.

“He beat me too, you know,” Chad says. “I don’t even really know why I’m here, honestly. But I thought – it could be fun, you know? We don’t really have stuff this crazy at home.”

He still seems nervous but he’s checking Colton out even more obviously now, and Colton decides to just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen if he’s wrong? The guy lives in South Africa, for fuck’s sake. They’re not going to have an awkward run-in at Whole Foods in a week. 

“It _could_ be fun,” says Colton, flashing the grin again, and he sees the moment that Chad gets it, his eyes widening a little. 

“The show doesn’t start for like an hour,” says Colton, “and I’m sure my evil overlords at MTV plan on keeping my ass in this line until then. We’ve got some time to work with.”

It’s probably in his contract that he can’t skip the red carpet to get off with strangers at MTV-sponsored events, but fuck it. Chad’s interested, definitely, and he nods nervously, then whispers to his PR guy. The guy nods without looking up from his blackberry, and Colton elbows him and heads for the nearest bathroom, trusting Chad to follow. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Dylan trying to contain his laughter and shoots him the finger, but he’s too flush with potential success to actually care.

There’s a whole separate handicapped bathroom, thankfully empty. Colton hangs out by the door until he sees Chad appear, looming slightly over the rest of the crowd. You never realize how short actors can be until a 6-foot Olympian breaks the illusion, apparently. He’s looking around, shy and nervous again, and Colton wonders suddenly how old this guy even is. 

“I’m twenty,” Chad answers, sounding a little confused, once Colton’s pulled him semi-discreetly into the bathroom and asked, just to check that he’s not some 15-year-old swimming prodigy freak. Good enough, especially considering the drinking age in South Africa is probably 16 if it even exists at all. 

“Good,” says Colton, and kisses him. Chad makes a surprised noise against his lips, like he didn’t really believe this would happen until it did, clandestine trip to the bathroom notwithstanding, and Colton swallows it down. Chad kisses him back as shyly as he smiles, at first, but Colton sucks at his bottom lip and urges his mouth open, and then it’s faster, edging towards frantic. Chad’s a messy kisser but it’s still good; his lips are warm and sweet and he’s panting a little, and when his big hands come up to land too gently on Colton’s hips Colton shivers and grinds against him.

Chad makes another noise at that and his hands tighten deliciously and Colton sucks kisses – not hard enough to leave a mark, he’s good at that – down his neck until Chad’s gripping him hard enough to bruise. Hip bruises are fine, they’re great, and Colton moves back to his mouth while he fumbles at the zipper of Chad’s ugly suit. 

“You don’t – I mean –“ Chad starts, sounding shocked but too turned on to really protest, and Colton says, “I want to,” and then remembers, “if that’s okay?” and Chad nods, eyes squeezing shut like he can’t really believe it.

Colton drops to his knees and fuck it, fuck Dylan calling him a slut, he loves this part, okay? Chad’s dick is as big as his hands had hinted at, thick and cut and everything Colton likes. When he pauses to suck kisses into the V of Chad’s swimmer’s abs, Chad trembles under his hands, and when he licks up the shaft and sucks the head into his mouth he hears Chad’s head hit the tiled wall, hard. The thrill of victory might not compare to winning gold, but Colton savors it anyway.

It doesn’t take long – the guy’s only twenty, and it really doesn’t seem like he’s done this much before. When Chad stutters out a cry and comes Colton swallows it like a pro, stands up, and tries to pretend he’s not so hard he’s about to stain his fucking tux. He’s just reaching down to readjust himself when a big hand covers his and pulls him in and they’re kissing again, Chad’s tongue licking into him slow, then faster, like he like’s what he’s found.

Chad reaches for his fly and Colton’s eagerly anticipating the somewhat unexpected – do they really have time for this? – handjob when all of a sudden the hand’s gone and Chad’s on his knees, and fuck. 

“Tell me if I,” Chad says, blushing furiously, “what I – “ and has he not done this before? Colton doesn’t really have a chance to think about it too hard, though, because then there’s a mouth on him, wet and eager, and those facts alone are enough to mostly make up for any level of inexperience. It takes a little longer this time, though – he’s twenty four, and Chad doesn’t exactly have the rhythm of it down yet – but it’s still great, and Colton would be more than happy to lean back and savor it if he wasn’t worried about them getting to their seats in time. Finally he reaches down and helps out, jerking off a little bit as Chad sucks, and he lets himself run his fingers over Chad’s lips just because they’re tan and soft and there, and Chad groans a little around his dick and then he’s coming, hard and satisfying.

Chad coughs a little and makes a weird face, but before he can go back to full-on blushing Colton pulls him up and kisses him. 

“Thanks,” he says, “that was totally awesome,” and Chad smiles at him. It’s still a little shy, and it still makes Colton shiver a little, like an aftershock. 

“How long are you in LA for?” he asks, and Chad shrugs.

“Dunno. I can’t really keep track of my own schedule. Maybe a day or two?”

“Here,” says Colton, “give me your phone,” because again – why not? 

They make it back to their seats just in time for Teen Wolf to win an award, and from the stage Colton sees Chad clapping and grinning with genuine happiness. It’s nice, and he pats the phone in his pocket with satisfaction.

Normally he’d wait a day or two before texting a guy after a hookup, especially one that random, but with Chad he doesn’t have two days, and again – South Africa, lack of awkwardness, et cetera. There’s also the fact that he really doesn’t _want_ to wait two days to see Chad again, but he tries not to factor that into his super-logical decision. 

That decision turns out to be to go out with the rest of the cast and celebrate by getting relatively wasted, then call Chad and ask where his hotel is. Chad sounds surprised but happy, and he gives Colton an address that’s not too shitty but also not great by LA standards. 

“Swimmers don’t get paychecks, they get sponsorships,” Tyler says, “and he’s not even American, he’s definitely not raking in the big bucks. Hope you’re not expecting a tip,” but he’s grinning, happy for Colton. Colton knows they all think he’d be happier if he came out, but they’d never push him, and they’re happy whenever he gets some, regardless. He gives Tyler a good natured shove and hails a cab. The ride’s not far and when Chad opens the door he’s wrapped in a towel and dripping water, all the lean torso and muscled chest Colton didn’t have time to unwrap in the bathroom on brilliant display. 

“You swim,” says Colton, feeling drunker all of a sudden, “this must be what you look like _all the time_ ,” and then he’s pushing Chad back towards the bed, kissing the water off his neck and chest and the little dips below his pecks before it can dry. 

“No fair,” Chad’s laughing, breathless, “you too,” and Colton stops to shuck off his shirt without really thinking about it, kicks his way out of his pants and socks. 

“Oh, shit,” says Chad, propping himself up on his elbows to look. 

Colton grins and straddles him, the moisture of the towel soaking through his briefs. When they kiss it’s a little slower than it was in the bathroom, the threat of wasting time no longer a factor. It’s less messy, too, Chad letting Colton control the kiss until he breaks away to mouth at the space under Colton’s ear and down the side of his neck, lips hot and strong. 

“Fuck,” Colton breathes, painfully hard all of a sudden, and he’s rocking his hips against Chad’s stomach with increasing desperation. He can feel Chad’s dick hot through the towel, but before he can do anything about it Chad’s rubbing him through his briefs, pulling down the elastic to get one of those big hands around him. 

He’s better at this than he was at giving head, and Colton comes a lot faster as a result, leaning down to kiss Chad while he thrusts into his hand, just wet enough from the shower and the towel that it hits that perfect line between an easy slide and toe-curling friction. When he comes, groaning, he moves down to lick it off of Chad’s glistening abs, and every time his tongue sweeps out Chad shudders beneath him.

By the time he’s done Chad’s moving his hips in tiny, uncontrollable motions, and the towel’s unraveling all over the place. Colton finishes the job, throws it to the side and moves off the bed to settle in between Chad’s legs. He thinks about asking if Chad has condoms, but he just came and that’s a lot of effort and Chad’s dick is just as awesome as it was earlier today, and he stops thinking and sucks at the head, at the vein on the underside, taking in Chad’s gasps and half-swears. He has time, now, to do this the way he likes to, slow and teasing, sucking one of Chad’s balls into his mouth and then the other – he appreciates that swimmers appear to shave absolutely everywhere – biting at his hipbones while he jerks Chad off with one hand. 

Chad’s hands are gripping and releasing the comforter and the edge of the bed with increasing desperation, and Colton pulls off to rasp, “you can touch me, dude, really,” closing his eyes with pleasure when he feels Chad’s big fingers thread into his hair. He goes faster now, bobbing with the rhythm that Chad sets with the jerky motions of his hips and helpless pressure of his hands, and his eyes sting and his throat tries to close up but Colton just breathes through his nose and lets Chad half-fuck his mouth until he comes with a gasp and a string of profanity that’s adorably out of place with his shyness and young face. 

“That was amazing,” says Chad, then blushes like maybe he’s said the wrong thing, or Colton will disagree. 

“No shit,” Colton reassures him, and drags himself back up onto the bed. “I was thinking about asking you to fuck me, but that was pretty great.”

Chad groans at that, rolling over to bury his face in the pillow. “Oh my god,” he says, “I -- really?” He rolls back over. 

“Maybe in the morning,” Colton laughs, and Chad looks like he can’t believe his fucking luck. 

In the morning, though, Chad wakes him up at an ungodly hour and apologizes profusely – he’s leaving sooner than he thought, flight back home, and Colton can stay in the room but he has to go. He looks so upset about it that Colton kisses him sleepily just to wipe the expression off his face, then loses himself in it for a minute until Chad takes a deep breathe and steps back, blushes, smiles at him, and leaves.

And that’s that. Or it would be, if Colton didn’t get drunk a few nights later and spend five hours watching replays of Chad’s races on YouTube and jerking off to the way the water drips down he body as he climbs out of the pool. 

It becomes a sad kind of pattern – whenever he goes out and comes back home alone, he’ll think about Chad and watch his videos and jerk off. It would be embarrassing if he let himself think about it, so he doesn’t. He just cues up his favorite video and lets his mind go blank, except for when it flashes to the way Chad looked when he was on his knees in the bathroom, shy and eager at the same time, or the size of his hands on Colton’s hips and head and dick. 

When Chad texts him one day out of the blue, Colton kind of feels like he did that one time his mom caught him jerking off – except it’s not like Chad _knows_ , of course, he’s just texting to say that he was watching TV in South Africa and Teen Wolf was on and Colton was awesome in it. It’s kind of an awkward text, and Colton can imagine him thinking about what to say and even asking a friend, maybe, but it works – he’s reestablished contact, and Colton’s happy to text him back, ask how things are going back home, is he back in the pool yet?

After that they text pretty regularly; Colton hears about Chad’s family and friends and learns far too much about the mechanical nuances of training to be an Olympic swimmer, and he tells Chad how things are going on set and finds himself wishing that Chad could meet his cast mates so he’d have context for Colton’s hilarious stories about them. 

His jerkoff-consolation routine feels a little weirder after that, but he doesn’t think about it too hard until Chad texts him one night just as he’s opening to his saved videos on YouTube. He’s already pretty hard in anticipation, and when he sees Chad’s name on the screen he feels heat curl in his spine.

 _Just saw a lizard and thought of you_ , Colton reads, and laughs despite himself. He thinks a little and texts back,

_yeah? what did you think, exactly?_

_poor man’s kanima,_ Colton reads, and before he can respond his phone buzzes again.

 _kanima = poor man’s u. not rly into lizards honestly_.

 _so u prefer me without the tail_ , Colton types.

 _it might get in the way_ , Chad writes back, and Colton can feel that latent heat build some more.

_oh? Of what?_

_what u talked about before I left_ , he reads, and he can practically see Chad’s blush through the phone.

 _fucking me, you mean_ , he types, and rubs two fingers at the waistband of his briefs, letting them skim over the head of his dick.

 _yeah_ he gets back, a slower response this time.

 _I’ve never done it with a guy before_ , comes next, then, _whats it like_

“Shit,” Colton says out loud, and takes his hand off his dick reluctantly so he can type.

 _id get myself ready for you_ , he types, grinning at the thought of Chad’s reaction, _id be on top the first time so I could go slow at first,take all of you_.

Shit, he’s leaking precum through his briefs, and he pushes them down and off, starts to stroke himself for real. The buzz of his phone is like a pavlovian signal, now, and his dick twitches when he gets Chad’s next text.

_fuck thats hot. What else?_

It doesn’t surprise him that Chad’s too shy to really go for it, but Colton’s having enough fun on his own.

 _j/o on your chest again while u fucked me,_ he types, _so u could feel me coming while u were inside me_ , and that’s it, he’s coming himself, and he’s barely even had time to really get a hand on his dick. Fuck.

There’s a long pause before Chad’s next text, and then _shit. Cant believe I had to leave that morning_.

Fuck, Colton can’t either. 

_I wanna see what you look like right now_ he types, surprising himself a little, and a few seconds later his phone buzzes and there’s a picture of Chad lying on the bed, pink-cheeked and not quite looking at the camera, with his chest flushed and his dick still half-hard. His body looks even better than it did before, if that’s even possible. 

In return he sends a picture that carefully crops out the face, and laughs when Chad sends back, _phew no tail just checking_. So it won’t be weird, then, which is a relief. He’s gotten used to them texting, it’s a daily thing now.

They don’t mention the whole late-night-sexting session again, actually, which is fine – everything is normal, and Colton doesn’t even think about it except when he’s reaching deep for some good jerkoff material. Being casual texting buddies is better than friends with benefits with an ocean between them, anyway, or so he tells himself.

And then over the summer he mentions that he has a break in his shooting schedule and he’s trying to figure out what to do for two whole weeks of no four am call times and lizard makeup, and Chad’s like, _come to SA, my place on the beach! Ill teach u the fly_.

It’s not even a hard decision to make – beach and probable sex and he has the money, now, to fly to South Africa without really thinking twice. So he does. 

Chad meets him at the airport, tanned and looking far less nervous and exhausted than he had in LA. He wraps Colton up in a big bro-y hug, complete with slap on the back, and puts him in a Jeep. The drive to the beach is relatively quiet – they talk a little, catch up some, but they’re mostly up to date on each others’ lives and Chad seems to get that Colton just wants to look out the window and take in the houses and changing scenery, just different enough from the US to feel adventurous and new. Whenever Colton looks over at Chad, his eyes are on the road but he’s smiling big and wide.

Chad’s house on the beach is modest, clearly a family property and not a beachside bachelor pad, and Colton remembers that he’s still just 20, probably not out buying up properties for himself. They drop their bags in the living room and Chad stops and says in that gorgeous accent that Colton hasn’t heard in months, “I’m glad you came,” and Colton kisses the smile off his face. 

He’s just starting to get to the good part, pulling Chad’s t-shirt up over his head and struggling out of his own button down when Chad kisses him again, grabs his hand, and pulls him out the door and towards the water. The beach is beautiful, white sand and blue water as far as Colton can see in either direction, and the best part of all is Chad shedding the rest of his clothes and diving into the water, surfacing a few yards later shining and dripping and smiling. 

It’s like all of Colton’s favorite YouTube highlights in the flesh, and for a second he’s so turned on he can barely think, just stands there dumbstruck until Chad laughs and shouts at him to get in.

“The water’s warmer than you think, come on! You can’t come all this way and not just dive in,” and Colton obeys, kicks off his pants and runs into the surf, feeling foolish and ungainly and supremely happy.

Chad swims back towards him and surfaces again, kisses him once and says “can you catch me?” and takes off again.

“Of course I can’t catch you, you’re an Olympic gold medalist,” Colton shouts, and Chad stops and treads water, waiting for him.

“Head start then,” he says, and Colton shrugs and goes for it, breaking into his best summer-camp-honed freestyle. He can hear Chad laughing at him as he swims, but it’s a happy laugh, and when he finally reaches Chad he’s smiling and shaking his head.

“I see we’ve got a lot of work to do while you’re here,” he says. “My four year old cousin can swim better than you,” and just to prove he can act like a four year old with the best of them Colton splashes him full in the face in retaliation.

Chad can win a waterfight too, unsurprisingly. His splash hits Colton with enough force to knock him backwards in the water, and then he’s dipping under and grabbing Colton’s hips, lifts him and actually tosses him up out of the water like he’s nothing. 

It should be humiliating but it’s just incredibly hot, and when Chad swims over to him again Colton wraps his legs around him and grabs his face, kisses him so hard he almost loses his footing and takes them both under. Chad’s lips are salty on the surface with the sweetness of his skin underneath, and his fingers find Colton’s waistband and tug at it, sweep under to grab against his ass and lift him higher in the water.

“Fuck,” Colton gasps against his neck, and he’s been waiting for Chad to fuck him for months now but this is too good to call a stop to so they can head inside for lube and condoms. Instead, he arches into the feeling of Chad’s hands on his ass, fingers skating along it like they’re exploring, and he gets a hand around both of them, jerks them together underwater until Chad is biting at his lips and coming and Colton’s following close behind. There’s salt in his eyes and his mouth and he can barely catch his breath, and the sun is beating down on him and making the water surrounding them shine like a mirror.

He’s lost his briefs somewhere in the process of getting off, so they head back towards the house naked and laughing. Inside, Chad makes spaghetti and tells him about vacationing here as a kid, how the ocean made him fall in love with swimming. It’s getting darker out, now, and they eat on the porch with cold beers, in nothing but towels. When they’re finished, Chad puts their dishes in the sink and smiles at him shyly, like he’s not sure what comes next.

“Time for an athletic activity at which I too excel,” says Colton, laughing at his own line, and pulls Chad into the smaller of the two bedrooms.

“Still never done this?” he asks Chad, who shakes his head. 

“I don’t have much time, with training, and – I haven’t, really, anyone. Since.” 

That’s – shit, not really what Colton had asked, but kind of hot anyway, and kind of disconcertingly true for him, too, a few bad dates followed by worse kisses notwithstanding. 

“On the bed,” is all he says, though, and Chad goes willingly, looking happy and eager and maybe just a little bit nervous. But when Colton clambers up over him and starts opening himself up, one finger at a time, Chad’s face goes empty of anything but pure want. 

“Can I?” he asks, and then he’s skating his hands over Colton’s chest, arms, stomach, leaning up to kiss down his neck and bite at his collarbone. His fingers find Colton’s and Colton lets him take over, one finger and then two, and sighs with pleasure as Chad starts up a gentle rhythm. So maybe he is a slut, but god, he loves this, the pleasure/pain of it and the closeness and the trust. 

“You can do three,” he tells Chad, who’s biting his lip with how careful he’s being. Three is good, then great, and he tells Chad to stop, gets out a condom and rolls it on over him. He lines everything up and then he’s pressing down, so slowly, watching Chad’s face as it goes from want to awe to totally overwhelmed. It’s good for Colton, too, getting better every second as he rocks back, find the right angle. 

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels that burst of _toomuch_ that tells him it’s just right, and Chad snaps out of his haze enough to notice, rolls his hips up and in, slow and then faster until Colton is gasping and making helpless little noises. It’s building and building and he’s about to get a hand on his dick to finish it off when suddenly Chad shouts and shakes under him, hard, and stills.

“Oh god,” he says, throwing a hand over his eyes, “I’m sorry, that was just so – fuck, I.” He’s panting and flushed and it’s even better than the picture Colton still has saved on his phone, and that’s enough for him to forgive Chad totally.

“Don’t worry,” he tells him, “here, you can –“ and he shifts away from Chad, moaning a little at the feeling, and guides Chad’s fingers back to his hole. 

“Just, three, again,” he says, and Chad gets it right away, presses in with a steady rhythm and it’s so good Colton almost sobs, strips himself hard and fast until he’s shaking and coming and clenching around Chad’s big fingers. 

He’s come all over Chad’s chest again, and he wipes some of it up with his fingers and sucks it off, just to be a show-off. 

Chad groans and presses all three fingers in again in retaliation, and fuck – Colton’s shaking through a wave of aftershocks that leave him collapsed and panting on Chad’s chest.

“I don’t like to lose,” Chad whispers, and fuck even that is ridiculously hot but Colton’s too tired to do anything about it, just lets himself relax into Chad’s arms as they come up around him. 

In the morning, the sun streams in the windows and wakes them up and they fuck again, Colton on his stomach this time with Chad easing into him where he’s still wet and open from the night before. This time, Chad is less careful, takes more than he gives, and it’s so hot Colton can’t stand it – Chad’s hips driving into him with a long, smooth rhythm like he’s coming off the wall after a turn, and Colton’s shaking and coming before Chad does, moaning as Chad gives three more long thrusts before he pulls out and comes all over Colton’s back and ass. 

“Do you have to be the best at _everything_?” Colton complains as Chad flips him back over and takes a long, heated look.

“Pretty much,” says Chad, and kisses him until he’s breathless. “Now come on, you need a good breakfast if we’re going to spend the day teaching you to swim.”

The rest of the week takes the shape of lessons: swimming during the day, as Colton actually does improve his freestyle and manages to master the basics of the butterfly, and another kind of lesson at night. Chad really does want to master anything he sets his mind to, and he spends three entire hours one night sucking Colton’s cock until he’s come four times in a row and has to beg Chad to stop. The night Chad wants to try rimming is even worse; by the end of it, Colton’s actually crying with frustration, facedown on the mattress and so hard he feels like he can’t breathe. 

“Just touch me,” he grits, “Chad, come on, Chad,” but Chad doesn’t even listen to him, just keeps licking into him, following tongue with fingers, two then three then four and Colton’s coming untouched, sobbing into the pillow. 

He tries to return the favor when he comes back to himself a little bit, but when he reaches down Chad blushes and shakes his head. 

“I couldn’t wait – it was so hot, you’re so hot,” he says, and in fact he’s almost half-hard again already. Colton ignores Chad’s protests and the lure of sleep and sucks him until he’s hard again, until he comes all over Colton’s chest and neck and sucks it off with kisses that’ll probably bruise, but Colton’s too gone to care.

On his last day of what Colton’s starting to think of as his sex-cation, he wakes up to a hot strip of sun across his face, the gentle crashing of the ocean outside the open window, and Chad biting kisses into his neck and down his spine. 

“Mmm,” Colton says, stretching out in the tangled sheets and wincing in a not entirely unpleasant way when his body reminds him of all the –various – activities he’s been putting it through this week. The most recent of those activities claims top billing when Chad reaches a hand down to where Colton’s still open and a little wet from the night before, pressing tentatively and groaning happily into Colton’s shoulder when his fingers slip in easily.

“Fuck,” says Colton, “not that I’m complaining, but lemme just – brush my teeth, c’mon, Chad,” and Chad slaps his ass half-heartedly and pulls away.

“Hurry,” he says, “you take forever to wake up, I’ve been thinking about this for half an hour,” and Colton’s only had a minute or two but his dick’s definitely on the same page. He pulls on the first thing he sees, out of habit – Chad’s boxers, somehow caught on the doorknob – and heads through the kitchen to the small bathroom.

He totally blames how early it is and how bad he’s just trying to get back in bed for some morning sex for the fact that he totally doesn’t notice there’s a man sitting in the kitchen until he’s on his way back from the bathroom. When he does notice – a large, balding guy with a sunburnt face sitting at the table and holding a cup of coffee – he does an embarrassingly comic double take and shouts “Chad?” in maybe a higher-pitched voice than he’d like to admit.

“If he’s asleep, don’t wake him,” the guy says, laughing. “Loves to sleep in, he does. Couldn’t get him out of bed at all if it weren’t for the pool. Lives to swim, that boy. Great swimmer. Beautiful boy.”

“Um,” says Colton, “he… sure loves to swim.”

“Wonderful swimmer, loves the water, he does!” the man repeats enthusiastically. “Hope you do too, coming out here, water’s excellent, beautiful, waste not to swim in it.”

“He’s been coaching me some, actually,” Colton says, still not quite sure where this conversation is going. “Uh, and you are –“

The man laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, throwing his head back and wiping tears away from his eyes. “I’m his father of course, can’t believe I didn’t introduce myself earlier, my goodness – I know who you are, of course, Chad can’t stop talking about you, lovely boy he is, beautiful boy, absolutely lovely – as are you, I’m sure! When my Chad likes a person, I say to myself, that must be quite a person, quite a person, yes indeed.”

Colton’s just trying to get over the fact that he’s meeting Chad’s _father_ and he’s half-hard and wearing his son’s underwear when the door to the bedroom opens and Chad looks out, bright red and obviously having heard the entire conversation.

“Dad,” he hisses, “you have to _tell_ me when you’re coming, I told you, oh my god, what are you—why would you tell—"

"Chad!" his father says, looking a little surprised but no less jolly, "why shouldn't I tell this lovely boy just how lovely you think he is, son? And he does," he says, turning to Colton again, who goes to cover his crotch with his hands and then, thinking that might bring more attention to it, lets them hover awkwardly around the vicinity of his thighs, "think you're lovely, so I said to myself, why not surprise the boys, see this lovely boy our Chad is so infatuated with, and look at you!" and now he's beaming, triumphant, "he was right! Our Chad always is, aren't you, boy, you have a knack for people, yes you do, and for swimming, my god—"

"You need to go," Chad says in a mortified half-whisper, "Dad, I love you, please leave, oh my god."

"Well, well," his father says, getting up from the table and slapping a hand on his thigh in satisfaction, "alright then, my boy, I'll leave you two here to it, but I can't believe you never brought him by the house, your poor mother, but don't worry, I'll tell her how lovely he is, yes I will!" 

He turns to Colton and grins brilliantly, sticking out a hand. "Lovely to meet you, absolutely wonderful, hope you've enjoyed your stay," and Colton nods in a kind of stupefied way and then he's out the door and it's just him and Chad in the suddenly very quiet kitchen.

"Oh god," says Chad, covering his even-redder face with his hands, "he's always like that, I'm so sorry, I would never – I can't believe he— just ignore everything—"

"I liked him," says Colton, a little surprised to find that he's telling the truth. "I really did, he seems sweet, and fun. He seems like a great dad."

"He is," says Chad, bringing his hands down slowly, "but he's so—he's got no boundaries, really, he makes it sound like I've been obsessed with you, I had no idea he—"

It feels pointless, suddenly—here in the warmth of the kitchen with the ocean breeze outside the window and Chad standing in front of him wearing boxers and nothing else, his hair sticking up a little blearily over his left ear—to ignore the way Colton's stomach swoops at the idea of Chad liking him enough to tell his parents about Colton. Liking him enough to be maybe a little obsessed with him, in a good way. Maybe Colton kind of gets it.

"Obsessed with me, huh?" he asks, grinning wickedly to take the edge off the teasing, and Chad blushes even harder.

"I just—they asked who I was texting all the time, at meals and stuff, and I just, and then when I told them I'd be at the beach house, and they—"

"I get it," Colton says easily, and Chad stops talking. 

"I mean, I'm obsessed with this—" and Colton's running his fingers along Chad's lithe waist, his abs, down to the V of muscle above the waist of his boxers. And if it's not quite what Chad meant, and not quite what he means, either, well—he's leaving tonight, so it's enough for now.

"—And this," he's still saying when Chad throws him on the bed and picks up where they left off. His fingers close happily around Chad's dick, hot and hard, and he sighs with pleasure when Chad licks a stripe up his thigh and sucks him down easily. Later, when they're face to face and Chad's inside him, kissing him messily as he fucks Colton hard and desperate, Colton can't stop saying it. "And this," he gasps, "and this, fuck, Chad, this, this, this." 

Even after he comes, it's like his mouth's on autopilot. "This," he says, almost lazily, running a thumb over Chad's brow, cheekbone, tanned bottom lip. "This, -- _ah_ \-- this," and Chad comes with a shudder, gasping into his mouth and swallowing the rest of Colton's helpless litany.

Later, Chad drives him to the airport. The drive away from the beach is as quiet as the drive there, but this time Colton's not looking out the window. He's trying not to look at Chad, focusing instead on his hands on the wheel, the way his thigh flexes when he hits the break. Colton swallows and tries to focus on the speedometer instead. 

Then they're at the airport, right outside of security, and Chad smiles sadly and hugs him, warm and smelling like salt and sunscreen, and as he's pulling away he looks at Colton's mouth and then away, like he's remembered. To their left, there's a few teenage girls, all of whom definitely have camera phones.

"I don't—" Chad starts, then stops. "This sucks," and he bites his lip at the admission, and when he lets go there's a little impression from his teeth, white turning red as Colton watches, and fuck it, fuck all of it.

"C'mere," Colton says, reaching for him, waiting for permission, and Chad looks at him with wariness turning to agreement turning to a smile that Colton kisses off of his bitten lips. 

It doesn't feel like anything except the strength of Chad's hands on his hips, then threading through his hair, or the wet heat of Chad's mouth or the rough press of his lips. Maybe the girls are taking pictures; Colton doesn't care enough to look. It's not until he's on the tarmac back in LA and turns his phone on that he sees he's got five missed calls from his publicist; that answers that question.

"Yes," he says when she asks him if it was worth it, and she sighs but doesn't yell at him. "Alright," she says, "we'll work with it. First, though—are you dating?"

"I don't know," Colton tells her, honestly, and she rolls her eyes at him. 

"You never make anything easy for me, do you? Fine. We'll work with that, too. Now shoo," and he escapes back to his apartment.

Nothing really changes; the next month is a rush of filming and hanging out with the rest of the cast and pulling out his phone and looking at it, waiting for Chad to text him. Colton had texted him when he got back to LA, and then once or twice after that, but his phone's been totally silent in response, and it fucking sucks. It's not like he expected everything to go back to normal, but he expected –more, maybe, of whatever it was. Not less. Not nothing.

"You gotta remember he's, like, a superhero in South Africa, though," Dylan says.

"Yeah," Holland chimes in. "I mean, way more famous than you are here, sorry to break it to you. And honestly, babe, everyone knew you were gay. He's probably going through a lot of stuff."

"I shouldn't have kissed him," Colton says for the billionth time, and Holland hits him on the shoulder.

"Will you shut up about that? It's not like he stopped you. And I'm proud of you, anyways. Don't, like, take it back."

"I'm not," Colton grumbles, "I'm not." But that night he goes online and looks for news outlets in South Africa, and yeah, so apparently it's kind of a big deal. _Shit,_ he thinks, and thinks about emailing Chad and looks at his silent phone and taps out "u okay?" instead, and throws it across the room onto his bed before he can spend five pathetic minutes waiting for it to vibrate.

He finds it the next morning when he rolls onto an uncomfortable lump and reaches under his thigh to find an iPhone there. There's a notification on the screen.

"Fine, don't worry, figuring some stuff out."

Great. Perfect. Not cryptic or terrifying at all.

Chad can't, like, break up with him if they were never actually dating, right? Having almost non-stop sex with someone for a week and then cutting off all communication is in no way the same as breaking up with them.

"Right?" he asks Holland and Dylan, pathetically, looking up at their beautiful, happy faces from where he's decided to rest his head on the bar. It's feeling really heavy for some reason and it's easier to just leave it here.

"So you're saying that if you _were_ dating you _wouldn't_ want him to break up with you," Dylan says. He's using a lot of words and Colton closes his eyes for a second while he tries to figure them out.

"So you _want_ to be dating him," Holland clarifies. Colton opens her eyes. She's looking at him with a smile on her face but it looks mean.

"Yr mean," he says, but mostly to the bar. 

"Did you ever think about telling him that?" she asks, still being mean.

"He never told me!" Colton says, frustrated enough to pick his head up and glare. "He never told _me_ anything at all!"

"Except for how he told his dad all about you and then basically admitted to you that he was obsessed with you in like a super relationship-y way and then you told him you were in love with his dick," Dylan says.

Colton feels like that's oversimplifying things, but he can't really clarify it in his own head right now.

"I _am_ obsessed with him," he says mournfully. "I'm pathetic. Oh my god I'm so _pathetic_. Give me another shot."

"Sure," says Dylan, at the same time Holland says, "Absolutely not." Ugh. He tries to glare at Holland again but for some reason his head is back on the bar.

"Poor baby," Dylan says, and Colton gets the sense that maybe he's being mean too. "Let's get you home. In the morning we can have hangover brunch and make a game plan for you getting over yourself and actually maybe communicating with him. Or something."

" _He_ never communited—ficated—with _me_ ," Colton mumbles, but they're walking him out of the bar and not listening at all.

He wakes up to his phone going off far, far too loudly, right next to his ear. He picks it up and shoves it against his face, eyes scrunched against the way too bright sunlight.

"Dylan, I told you, brunch when _I_ decide, I swear if I eat right now I'll boot on your annoying face."

He's about to throw his phone down angrily when the voice on the other end clears its throat in a way that is way too tentative and polite to be Dylan.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

 _Accent_ , says Colton's brain, _sexy accent, holy shit,_.

"Chad?" he asks in a kind of a squeaky, hungover rasp.

"Yeah," Chad says nervously. "I'm in LA, I thought maybe we could talk—"

Fuck. Colton is so too hungover to get broken up with right now. 

"Uh," he says, "what's your schedule, where are you—"

Chad laughs, but he sounds even more nervous.

"I'm actually at your apartment," he says, "I know that's weird, it's really weird, I should have asked but I didn't want to wait and you had told me where it was and so I'm here? I can leave, though, you're obviously—tired—we can talk later—"

"No," says Colton, trying to pull his pants on and deal with the disgusting mess of his hair at the same time, "No, it's fine, you're fine, just let me—"

He opens the door and Chad's there, looking half hopeful and half unsure. He's biting his lip again and he's still tall and handsome and so tan it's like Colton can see the warmth of his skin. He wants so badly to kiss him.

"Come in," he says, instead, holding the door open. "Sorry I look like shit, I just woke up and I'm kind of hungover."

"You don't," Chad says, quickly. "Look like shit, I mean. You never do. You're—this isn't how I wanted to do this, really, but god. You're beautiful. You always are. The second I saw you—"

Colton pushes down all the parts of him jumping around in triumph.

"Why didn't you text me?" he asks. "I was worried that you were upset about the airport—but I wouldn't have, if you'd stopped me—"

"No," says Chad. "No, that was fine—I mean, not fine, but it's okay, it's good. I want it. I was," he pauses, fiddles with something invisible on the counter.

"I was scared, maybe. After that week—I didn't want you to leave, and that scared me, and then I kind of got over that and then I decided to do something crazy and I got nervous about that, so I just didn't tell you, but I didn't know how to not tell you, so I didn't talk to you, and god. Colton. I never thought about what you must have been thinking. I'm so sorry, I should have texted you. I should have called you—I should have _told_ you."

"Told me what," Colton asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

"That I," and now Chad's looking at the floor but his eyes keep flicking back up to Colton's like he can't look away completely. "I transferred. To USC. To swim there, and school, I mean, I can still swim for South Africa and just train here and it's a great school, my dad's really excited about it, and—" he pauses, takes a deep breath, and Colton wants to jump him right there in the kitchen but he makes himself wait, wait for it, wait.

"And maybe, if I'm here, and you're here, we could keep—seeing each other. I didn't want to, I couldn't, when you left—"

"You wanna be my _boyfriend_ ," Colton says, grinning at him, and Chad looks up and him and blushes and smiles like he's still not totally sure this is working out, even though it is. Fuck yes it is.

"We don't have to, if you don't want to, like, publicly, but if you do, yes, I want to—"

"I want to," Colton says, and then he's kissing him as hard as he'd wanted to when he first opened the door, rough and biting at that damn lip until Chad hisses in pain but he doesn't stop kissing him, just threads his hands into Colton's hair and holds him there, sucks kisses along his jaw and bites a hickey into his neck, angry and visible.

"Shit," Colton says, and even this isn't enough, suddenly. He gets his hands up under Chad's shirt, presses them against his warm stomach and then lifts up and tugs, groaning when they have to break apart to throw the shirt in the corner. Colton didn't have time to put a shirt on when he answered the door, and Chad ducks his head and sucks at Colton's chest greedily, running his tongue roughly over a nipple and biting at it when Colton shivers under his hands. 

The bedroom's only a few feet away but that seems like miles, right now, especially when Chad sinks to his knees and tears at Colton's jeans, gets them down and looks up at him once, soft brown eyes gone hard with something that's more than lust but which Colton will go crazy if he tries to analyze right now. And then he can't analyze it even if he wanted to because Chad's swallowing him down and humming around him, hands kneading at Colton's thighs like he's pulling Colton's orgasm out of him. When Colton reaches into his sun-bleached hair and tugs he looks up and his face is desperate and Colton comes, shaking, knocking a glass off the counter with how hard he rocks against it.

Colton wants Chad to fuck him and he wants to spread Chad out and take his time with all that golden skin and fuck him and watch him blush and whine, which is not even something he usually wants, and he wants Chad to come in his mouth and on his face and against his stomach. He wants so much all at once that he can't even choose, can only sit there on the kitchen floor and gasp and pull Chad over by the hair he's still gripping too tightly. He whispers everything he wants into Chad's mouth between kisses, trying to suck the taste of himself off of Chad's tongue and swallow the way he shudders a little bit every time Colton adds something to the list.

"I want that too," Chad says, "all of it," and the thing is that now they have time to do so many things, to do everything, and right now Colton can slow down and kiss Chad easy and deep. He can climb awkwardly into his lap and his his ear and make him screw up his face and laugh, and he can kiss at his jaw and neck and rock against him, slow and teasing, until Chad gasps and comes, wet heat spreading under Colton's thighs.

They lie flat on their backs in Colton's kitchen and get their breath back, and then Chad rolls over and kisses him and they do it again, and again, this and this and this.

~epilogue~

The red carpet is just as crowded leaving the MTV movie awards as it is arriving at them. But this time Colton's star has risen a little higher—he _did_ just win "Best Kiss," which is maybe as close as he'll ever get to an Oscar but is potentially cooler. Maybe. Anyway, they let him cut the line and walk to where all the cameras and reporters are and then there are a hundred flashbulbs going off in his face.

"How did it feel to win Best Kiss?" three people scream at him, and he tries to figure out who to direct his answer to.

"Pretty great, I have to say," he says, and flashes a patented smile. "It's always nice to have people say good things about your kissing skills."

"Do people say good things offscreen?" one slightly more original reporter asks.

Colton smiles again, but this time it's a little more genuine. "You'll have to ask him," he says, nodding towards Chad, who's standing next to him looking glamorous and only a little awkward in his tux. Chad blushes on cue.

"So?" the reporter asks, "how is he?"

"Um," Chad says, and Colton's going to get it from him when they get home but oh, this is so worth it. "No complaints. At all."

There's laughter from the clump of reporters and screams from the fans lining the carpet, and someone asks, "Go on, give us a demonstration!"

This time it's Colton who hesitates, unsure of whether Chad's ability to deal with being photographed on dates and even on his way to go grocery shopping will finally hit its limit here, but Chad just winks at the cameras and leans down. The press of his lips is as warm and sweet as ever, and even after their celebratory anniversary quickie in the bathroom two hours ago Colton wants more, right now, feels the fleeting swoop of "don't stop" when Chad pulls away.

"Damn," says the reporter, as a hundred more flashbulbs go off. 

"Told you so," says Colton, squeezing Chad's hand in silent apology for claiming all the credit, and grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is from the song "Starships" by Nicki Minaj. Anything else felt too dignified for this.


End file.
